


It's Complicated

by TopHatCat



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bittersweet, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hosea/Dutch (past but still present), Multi, Mutual Pining, One-Shot, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Tickle Fights, cute but then a little sorrowful, unintentional boner, vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: A tickle fight turns into 'oh no, is it that obvious I still love you?'And Hosea and Dutch do love each other...but there are some lines that can't be crossed anymore.
Relationships: Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	It's Complicated

Dutch entered his tent to find Hosea reading on the bed. The conman was stretched out on the mattress, lying on his back with one knee bent and a book held over his face. Dutch was tempted to smack it out of his hands so it fell, but resisted, instead shrugging out his damp coat.

“Comfy?”

Hosea let out a hum, eyes still tracing over the words of the story he was invested in. “Very.”

Dutch’s gaze in turn trailed over Hosea’s body, noting the undone appearance of him; no vest or coat, and his feet were bare, boots discarded to the floor. “Plannin’ on staying?”

“For a while,” Hosea replied distractedly, and Dutch shrugged, hanging his coat on a chair, straightening the cloth so it would dry before morning. A little shiver ran through him and he rubbed his arms, listening to the patter of raindrops on canvas overhead. The weather had been gloomy all week, but it seemed the clouds finally decided to break open as a distant rumble of thunder followed the fresh rain. Dutch felt pity for any travelers caught out on the road, as he almost had been. Turning back to the close warmth of the tent, he kicked off his own boots next to Hosea’s, kneeled on the edge of the bed, and ducked under the conman’s arm to lay at his side. Head resting on Hosea’s chest, he peered up at the book. “What’s this one?”

“Frankenstein,” came the reply. “Again.”

“Can you read it out loud?”

Hosea finally shifted his gaze away from the page, titling his head a bit to look down at Dutch, making the outlaw lift his chin so their eyes could meet. “I thought Victor made you angry because he’s irresponsible. Never checking his own errors. Remember what happened the last time I read Frankenstein to you?”

Dutch scoffed. “That speech had nothing to do with the book. John needed to be told about the importance of being accountable for actions after the sloppiness of that gun store job.”

Hosea snickered. “Ah, so then the phrase ‘we all have monsters we must be responsible for, John, don’t let yours run away from you’ wasn’t at  _ all _ inspired by Miss Mary Shelley?”

Dutch slapped at his chest, which was the closest part of Hosea to his hand. “Not at  _ all _ .”

“Sure,” Hosea grinned, then began reading from the top of the page. Dutch burrowed his way further into the space between the conman and the mattress, trying to get warm as the words entered his ears and filled his mind like liquid honey.

Some amount of time later, he woke to Hosea’s fingers running through his hair. Sleepily blinking against the lamplight, he looked blearily into Hosea’s face. “Wha’time issit?”

“Not sure.” Hosea’s voice was soft, and amused. “You fell asleep.”

“Sure.” Dutch yawned, and rubbed a hand down his face. “You leavin’ now?”

“Not yet,” Hosea said, “But my arms are tired; I need to set this book down.”

“Give it here.” Taking the novel, Dutch set it on the floor, then turned back against Hosea. “Speaking of time…when’s Bessie due back?”

He felt Hosea’s lungs expand and deflate in a large sigh. “She said tonight, but with the weather it may be later. I haven’t received a letter.”

Dutch frowned a little, imaging the woman all alone on the road in the middle of a storm. “Her family wouldn’t let her out in this; she’s probably still at her mother’s.” After a moment of thought, he propped himself up on one elbow so he could look down into Hosea’s face. “What does she say to them when they ask about you, anyway?”

Hosea’s mouth tightened into a line for a brief second, and then Dutch watched him erase the troubled expression as easily as chalk off a board. “Oh, something about business. I work in a bank, you know…quite the esteemed gentleman I am, with a country home and everything.”

“Well you live in the countryside alright,” Dutch chuckled, “Ain’t nothing false about that.” Flopping back down to the bed, he threw an arm around Hosea, burying his nose in the conman’s side. “She don’t care about your status and neither do I.”

“Status is less of a matter than the peculiarities of my profession,” Hosea sighed, then a sort of chuckle left him and he pressed his palm to Dutch’s forehead. “Stop that, you fool.”

Dutch grinned and burrowed his nose further into Hosea’s ribcage, immediately rewarded by a breathy laugh. “I thought you weren’t ticklish, old girl?”

“Not as much as you!” Hosea’s nimble fingers reached for the outlaw’s stomach and Dutch let out a yelp, instinctively folding in on himself. Batting Hosea’s hands away, he threw himself onto the conman and they wrestled a moment, both laughing as they found each other’s weak spots. Hosea pinpointed every place on Dutch’s body that tickled the most, but the outlaw had the advantage of being on top, and had soon reduced the other man to breathless laughter as he pinned him to the bed and attacked his sides with rough fingers.

“Please, it’s so ticklish there-, Dutch!”

“Not stopping until you mean it,” Dutch grinned as Hosea slapped a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from permeating the walls of the tent. The outlaw didn’t let up, though he became gentler, giggling himself at the unfiltered happiness sparkling in Hosea’s eyes.

A few seconds later Hosea’s breath suddenly hitched, and he gripped Dutch’s sleeve, still giggling. “Dutch-, don’t-, stop-.”

“Don’t stop? Okay then!” The outlaw continued his attack, determined to keep Hosea’s laughing for as long as possible, but the conman’s grip twisted his shirt, harsh in comparison to the mirth still bubbling from him.

“ _ Stop _ !”

His tone was different now, desperate, serious despite the fact that he was laughing, and Dutch stilled his hands. Hosea’s laughter died with the motions, leaving the conman flushed and breathless beneath him. Their faces were close, close enough for Dutch to see the faint pinch between Hosea’s brows. Both of them had heaving chests and a little sweat beading on their skin, but Dutch couldn’t see any reason for such an abrupt change of mood. About to ask, he shifted position a bit so his weight wasn’t so heavy on Hosea’s stomach and then he knew. The hard definition of Hosea’s length was painfully obvious, too obvious, pressing into Dutch’s thigh as it was, and the extra blush in the conman’s cheeks suddenly made sense.

“You’re-.”

“Get off.”

Hosea squirmed underneath him, hands pushing on Dutch’s chest as he tried to escape the weight holding him down. Dutch moved back automatically, eyes carefully averted as he sat back on the bed and Hosea propped himself up on his elbows. The humorous atmosphere was gone, replaced by an air that was cold and filled with a deafening silence. Rain fell harder on the canvas now, and thunder boomed closer, only a few seconds between it and the preceding flash of lightning.

“It’s no big deal,” Dutch said, his voice sounding loud in his ears. “I get turned on by the gun clerk when he's cleaning my revolvers.”

Where had the energy gone, the warmth? The moment when he was lying in Hosea’s arms, falling asleep to that beautiful voice? All of that had been acceptable, and very carefully balanced on the other side of the line they shouldn’t cross.

Hosea sat forward, drawing his knees to his chest. “This is….” He grimaced. “This is…different.”

His words trailed off. The conman’s arms were wrapped so tightly around his legs, his knuckles turned white where they held his elbows, and Dutch wanted to touch him  _ so badly it hurt _ . Wanted to kiss him and press their bodies together…wanted to pull his knees apart and be allowed to  _ really touch him _ .

“Different because you love me?” he asked.

The troubled expression on Hosea’s face turned to one of stone and Dutch actually shivered as sharp hazel eyes sliced through him. Swinging his legs off the bed, the conman grabbed his boots.

“You’re a bastard, Dutch van der Linde,” he snapped, yanking on the boots as the sound of wagon wheels came from outside. Both men looked toward the noise and Hosea pushed through the tent flaps without another look at the man he left inside. Dutch sat for a moment, trying to listen through the rain as the wagon came to a stop, but he could hear nothing except for the storm.

When he got up and dragged his boots out from under the cot, the toe of one hit the book he dropped there earlier. Before going to the tent entrance, he picked it up, tucking it under his arm as he looked out into the rain.

Hosea had an umbrella over Bessie’s head as they walked to their tent, though she looked soaked through already. She caught Ducth’s eye as she walked with her husband, and threw a kiss and a wave in his direction before the couple disappeared into their own sleeping quarters. Dutch lifted his hand a little belatedly, and only realized it was the one holding the book after droplets had already begun to dampen the cover. Quickly, he pulled it to his chest and opened it to make sure no water had gotten inside. The pages were thankfully dry, and almost without thinking he lifted it to his nose.

Immediately he was surrounded by the scent of paper and ink, a musty smell that felt warm, despite holding no heat. It was strong and familiar, and so reminiscent of  _ Hosea _ that Dutch’s heartbeat sped up. He could still faintly recall the places the other man’s body had pressed against his as they wrestled: all the curves and sharp angles pushing against his clothes and skin...and the harsh reminder that it was temporary, and nothing like enough.

A few yards away, the lamp in the Matthews’ tent had come on, and though Dutch couldn’t see through the canvas flaps, he could easily pull to mind the image of the couple hugging, kissing...Hosea was probably urging Bessie to get out of her wet clothes, and perhaps she was encouraging him to do the same. Her hands could be on the very same places Dutch’s had just touched, but hers were allowed to slip beneath his shirt and feel his skin. Dutch wondered if Hosea was still warm from snuggling close on the bed, and if Bessie would notice. He wondered if she’d teasingly ask him why he was so pleased to see her.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold tremored through Dutch’s body, and he shut the book.

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the beginning of a Bessie/Hosea/Dutch idea I have, but who knows if I'll ever write the full story.


End file.
